to
capering peasants; of the long-haired, unkempt Dictator of the Cafe
Delphine roaring his absinthe-inspired judgments on art and philosophy
for the delectation of his disciples, not a trace remained. He sang the
hymns. It was a pity they did not invite him to go round with the plate.
Yet the signs of a rebellious spirit continued now and then to manifest
themselves. He asked me, one day, with a groan whether he was condemned
to a daily clean collar for the rest of his life. Another day he seized
me by the arm, as we were lounging on the porch, and dragged me out of
earshot of the house.

"My good Asticot," said he in a dramatic whisper, "if I don't talk to a
man, I shall go mad. I shall dance around the flower beds and scream. I
have a yearning to converse with the host of the Black Boar, a fat
Rabelaisian scoundrel who has piqued my imagination. And besides, if
Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego were cast into my throat this minute they
would find it quite a different thing from Nebuchadnezzar's ineffectual
bonfire."

"There is no reason why we should not go to the Black Boar," said I.

He clapped me on the shoulder, calling me a Delphic oracle, and haled me
from the premises through the garden gate, with the lightning rapidity
of the familiar Paragot.

"Master," said I, as we hastened down the High Street--the Black Boar
stood at the other end, by the bridge--"if you want a man to talk to,
there is always Major Walters."

Paragot threw out his hand.

"He is a man, in that he is brave and masculine; in that he is
intelligent, he is naught. He is a machine-gun. He fires off rounds of
stereotyped conversation at the rate of one a minute, which is funereal.
I also have the misfortune, my little Asticot, to be under the ban of
Major Walters' displeasure. Your British military man is prejudiced
against anyone who is not cut out according to pattern."

"Madame de Verneuil is not cut out according to pattern," said I
maliciously.

"Your infant eyes have noticed it too? But I, my son, am Gaston de
Nerac, a vidame of Gascony, _nom de Dieu! et il aura affaire a moi, ce
pantin-la! Sacredieu_! Do you know what he had the impertinence to ask
me yesterday? What settlements I proposed to make on Madame de Verneuil.
Settlements, _mon petit_ Asticot! He spoke as trustee, whatever that may
be, under her husband's will. 'Sir,' said I, 'I will settle my love and
my genius upon her, and thereby insure her happiness and her prosperi